


Black and Blue and Purple All Over

by ba_lailah



Series: Spectral Vengeance [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Blindfolds, Body Horror, Character is Secretly a Virgin, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Deepthroating, Forced Orgasm, Ghost Sex, Haunted Houses, Horror, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Multi, Nipple Torture, Other, Overstimulation, Punishment, Rough Sex, Sounding, Spitroasting, Tentacle Rape, Tentacles, all the way through
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 15:04:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20473013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ba_lailah/pseuds/ba_lailah
Summary: A "psychic" scammer gets what she deserves.





	Black and Blue and Purple All Over

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WretchedArtifact](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WretchedArtifact/gifts).

> Your prompt practically wrote itself. Sorry I couldn't work in "impregnated by ghosts" but maybe next time...

Sarina smirked as she looked up the hill at the enormous old mansion. "This place is perfect," she called out the car window to Virgil, who was setting up the tripod in the middle of the long, curving drive. "Atmosphere out the wazoo."

"I should get a bonus for finding it," Lil chirped from the driver's seat.

Sarina was really getting tired of Lil's constant hints about being underpaid. It might be time to find a new personal assistant. "Let's see what the take is before we start spending it," she snapped.

"Come on, Sarina, I want to get these shots taken while the light is still good," Virgil said. If anyone deserved a bonus, it was him for all the times he stopped Sarina and Lil from being at each other's throats.

Sarina warily stepped out into the snowy, muddy drive and picked her way up to the spot Virgil indicated. She pulled her shawl over her head, relieved that she'd opted for the multicolored, multilayered look when developing her persona as Madame Vivanka, Spirit Medium. It wasn't as sexy as the bell-sleeve gown she'd affected as Lady Murkessa, but it was a lot warmer.

Madame Vivanka's other advantage over Lady Murkessa was that Lady Murkessa was wanted by the police in three states. Madame Vivanka was a clean slate.

"Look spooky," Virgil called as he began to take photos. Sarina pulled the shawl a little further down around her face and made her dark eyes wide. "Perfect, just like that."

Photos done, they got back in the car. As they slowly drove up the hill, Sarina was glad she'd told Lil to spend a little extra on renting an SUV.

An elderly woman was waiting outside the door, unfazed by the cold. "Good afternoon," she said as they got out of the car. "I'm Mrs. Wrenson, the property manager. You must be Madame Vivanka."

"Hi, I'm Lil," Lil sang out before Sarina could open her mouth. "I emailed you? This place is so great!"

"Yes, I'm Madame Vivanka," Sarina said through gritted teeth. If Lil didn't learn to keep her mouth shut, pretty soon Sarina was going to add murder to her long list of crimes.

* * *

The plan was simple: find an area full of stupid rich people, rent a creepy old house with a reputation for being haunted, quietly spread the word about seances, lure the biggest suckers into being repeat customers, fleece them good, and run. The three of them had pulled it off pretty well in Illinois, New Hampshire, and Connecticut. No reason to think upstate New York would be any different.

Finding the right house was key, and Sarina had to admit Lil had done a good job there. The place really felt haunted. As they sat down to an incongruous dinner of takeout Chinese in the elegantly appointed dining room, the door to the kitchen suddenly slammed shut. Everyone jumped. "Must be the wind," Virgil said after a moment. "This old place is drafty."

Before Mrs. Wrenson left, she had showed them how to use a little firestarter cube to get a blaze going in the big fireplace, but there was no central heating, and Sarina had to eat fast before her lo mein got cold. She shoveled noodles into her mouth inelegantly as Lil said, "Did you see how creeped out the delivery guy was? He practically threw the food at me."

"That's good," Sarina said patiently. "We want people to think the place is creepy. That's the whole point."

"Yeah," Lil said. "But _I'm_ creeped out. And we have to _sleep_ here."

Sarina rolled her eyes. "Don't get high on our supply," she said. "Rule number one for fake psychics is never sucker yourself into thinking ghosts are real."

Lil rolled her eyes right back. "Of course I don't think ghosts are real," she said. "I just don't like sleeping in creepy old houses in the middle of winter in the middle of nowhere. Like, I have that Neanderthal brain wiring too, okay? I know it's not real but I still don't like it."

"Then you're in the wrong fucking line of work, aren't you," Sarina told her. She dropped her chopsticks on the table and wiped her mouth with a paper napkin. "Have your crisis of conscience or whatever. I'm going to bed."

Sarina hadn't wanted to leave a fire burning unattended in her room during dinner, so it was still freezing cold in there. She opened the flue, got the firestarter lit, and made sure the logs were catching. She tugged the heavy velvet drapes over the windows, overlaping their edges, and rolled up a towel to block the space under the door. This wasn't her first creepy old mansion rodeo; she knew all the tricks. Fortunately the walls were thick and well built.

As the air began to warm, she hung up all her dresses in the cavernous wardrobe (no signs of mice or bedbugs, that was good) and put her toiletries in the bathroom, taking a moment to scrub her makeup off and brush her teeth. At least the place was clean, and had been renovated recently enough that there were proper electric lights and she had an en-suite bath. In Illinois the three of them had had to share a bathroom down the hall. She was never doing _that_ again.

The wind whistled outside. Sarina briefly twitched the curtain aside and saw that it was snowing again. But the fire was going merrily, and her room was warm enough for her to shed her clothes. She'd brought a flannel nightgown but didn't think she'd need it, especially with the heavy blankets on the big four-poster bed. In fact, she realized as she settled into bed, she didn't need those blankets at all. She kicked them down to the foot of the bed and pulled just the crisp white sheet over her naked body.

It had been a long day of travel and trying not to strangle Lil. Once she had her eye mask on to block the firelight, she rolled onto her front, hugging a pillow against her chest, and fell fast asleep.

* * *

A sudden chill half-woke her. The fire must have burned down. She reached down for the blankets—

She reached—

She couldn't move.

Sarina's eyes snapped open behind the eye mask as her heart raced. The sheet was gone and her skin was bared to the open air. The fireplace was at the foot of the bed and she could feel the warmth of the fire against her feet and legs, but the rest of her was freezing. Had someone opened a window? 

And someone was holding down her arms and legs, someone with ice-cold hands. 

"What the f—" was all she got out before another cold hand clamped over her mouth, fingers digging painfully into her cheek. She sucked in a breath through her nose and tried to scream, but all that came out was a muffled moan. She tossed her head, trying to free her mouth, trying to shake the mask off her eyes, but the hand held her face in an iron grip.

Sarina's first reaction to any inconvenience was anger, but now it was rapidly giving way to fear. Who was in her room? Was it Virgil? She'd always thought he was gay. Mrs. Wrenson had assured them there were no other lodgers. And if Lil could be counted on to do anything, it was triple-check the locks on the door before going to bed. Some part of Sarina's brain was also very afraid of what was going to happen, but for a moment she felt like she could handle anything if she just knew _who_ it was.

Who _they_ were, she realized. Hands on her wrists, ankles, and mouth—there must be at least three of them. That thought sent a shudder of terror through her.

Whoever it was, they were silent. She couldn't even hear them breathing. They held her absolutely still. And why were their hands so cold?

She whimpered against the hand over her mouth. Why were they pinning her down like this and not doing anything? What were they waiting for?

"Who's there," she mumbled, "who are you?"

A cold hand fisted in her hair. A cold fingernail trailed down her back. She thrashed helplessly. 

"We're the ghosts you don't believe in," a voice whispered in her ear, chilly breath washing over her cheek. It sounded somehow like many voices at once. It sounded not at all human. "We're the dead whose names you profane as you steal from the grieving."

Sarina tried to shake her head. This was impossible, some sort of sick prank—

"We are real," the voice whispered. "We're realer than you are. Nothing is more real than death, Sarina."

She squeezed her eyes shut. This couldn't be happening. _A bad dream_, she thought desperately, _I'm having a terrible nightmare, I'll wake up any minute now._

"You are wide awake," the voice said, as though it could hear her thoughts. Another impossible idea. "We do not need telepathy to know what you are thinking, Sarina. It is written in your shivering, in the tracks of tears down your face. _Guilt._ You know what you have done. You have taken what was most precious. You have raped away livelihoods. You have tarnished memories. You have ravaged the most vulnerable. You have desecrated the sanctity of death and grief. And now," the ghosts breathed into her ear, a spike of cold stabbing into her eardrum and making her writhe, "now it is your turn to suffer."

Then the hand over her mouth _changed_.

She felt it become gelatinous, oozing across her face and leaving little stinging pinpricks where it touched her. A part of it pushed between her lips. She clenched her jaw, but the ghostly intrusion oozed between her front teeth and _grew_ somehow, forcing her mouth open and solidifying into what felt like a frozen baseball. The cold chapped her tongue and the roof of her mouth. She panted through her nose, trying not to panic.

Other tendrils of cold wrapped up her arms from where her wrists were pinned and spread across her skin, squirming and questing like blind worms. Soon she was encased from the neck down in chilly gel that blocked all the fire's warmth from reaching her. Her nipples were hard as rocks, agonizingly tight.

That was the ghost, she realized, giving in and letting herself believe it. The ghost's body was oozing over hers. And the chill was the chill of the grave.

She still couldn't see, and it was so cold and so dark. The primitive part of her brain screamed _DANGER_. Her jaw ached. Shivers wracked her body. 

Then the ghost sent a tendril questing up between her pussy lips and Sarina nearly lost her mind.

"No, no!" she tried to scream around the fist-size chunk of ghost in her mouth. All she could manage were muffled grunts.

The ghost laughed in her ear, low and mean. "We did say you had raped away livelihoods," it murmured. "Tit for tat, Sarina."

She sobbed, feeling her tears soak the mask.

"And you're untouched, aren't you?" the ghost whispered. "Except by yourself. And us, now. We're as deep in your mind as we're going to be in your body, Sarina. We know all your secrets."

The tendril wriggled up into her. The cold inside her cunt was agonizing, like being fucked by a living icicle.

"We know you get off by lying under the bathtub faucet and blasting your clit with cold water. You like it because it's a challenge, don't you? To withstand the pain and cold long enough to come?" Pressure began to increase on her clit—not moving, just pressing against her, harder and harder, until she couldn't help herself and tried to move against it.

"We know you like big toys." The tendril inside her began to grow. She moaned as it filled her and then stretched her.

"We know you like fantasizing about making Lil lick your ass. Would it feel like this?" Another tendril fluttered at her asshole. She yelped. "And you dream of doing this to her too, don't you." The tendril pushed up into her ass and thickened as it went, the pressure insistent, the cold unbearable. Her skin stuck to it like a child's tongue to a frozen flagpole, and then tore away as it drove impossibly deeper into her. She cried helplessly, thrashing in agony, as the cold began to coil up into the small of her back and the two tendrils rubbed against each other through a thin wall of her flesh.

"The human body is fascinating," the ghost said conversationally. "So many openings to explore." Another tendril probed at her, just below her clit, and she realized what was happening just as it slid into her urethra. Needles of cold and pain shot through her. She shrieked. 

Rings of fangs formed around her nipples, gripping them painfully. Two more tendrils poked into her nipples; she felt tiny tentacles spread out from them, squirming deep into the spongy flesh of her breasts. Another wriggled into her navel. The sensation was disorienting, too strange to even be called pain. It was _wrong_, horribly, horribly wrong.

"It hurts, doesn't it, Sarina? But you like pain." The tendril in her cunt began rubbing up against her G-spot, fucking her slowly and deliberately. "You like a challenge." The ghost pressed down on her clit and then pressed up against it from _inside_ her, the sensation unbearably intense. "You like forcing yourself to come even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts." The sphere in her mouth elongated and began to drag itself in and out against her chapped lips, fucking deeper into her throat with every stroke. She fought for air. "Because you know you deserve it, Sarina. You know your pleasure always comes at the expense of pain."

Everything was overwhelming. She gave up trying to fight and lay there, limp, mouth gaping open and legs splayed, as the ghost pressed deeper into every part of her body. Somewhere among all the pain, pleasure began to burn inside her like shame.

The ghost pushed into her throat and didn't pull away. Her lungs struggled for air. She could feel her eyes popping wide as she thrashed involuntarily, sparkles beginning to invade the blackness behind the mask. The ghost, seeming to savor her agony and terror, fucked her harder, stretching her ass and cunt to their limits and beyond. She felt her flesh tear, the cold stinging against the raw wounds. Her clit throbbed.

Just as she felt consciousness slipping away, her climax roared through her. Every muscle clenched. Her overstimulated body felt like it was trying to turn itself inside out, to repel the intruder through the force of her spasms.

When Sarina was alone, her reward for coming was that she would stop the pain, turn off the cold water, squeeze out the toy pressing her open. But the ghost was unforgiving. It withdrew from her throat just long enough for her to take one deep, shuddering breath and then began again, wringing orgasm after orgasm from her even as it wrecked her body. Whenever she thought she was becoming numb to the pain, some shocking new torture was inflicted. A second tendril joined the first inside her cunt, and then they spread her gaping open for an enormous third one that felt like a fist punching into her. The one in her ass kept pushing in and in, winding up through her guts, until she tasted acid in the back of her throat and realized it had reached her stomach. It pressed onward, up through her throat, and at last the tip of it emerged between her lips like a second tongue. She convulsed, trying to vomit out the intruder, and it punished her by expanding to cut off her air again but never quite letting her have the sweet relief of passing out.

At last the torment slowed and then stopped. Her body was gradually emptied of intrusions, though every inch of skin and membrane was abraded. The ghost's gelatinous form remained wrapped around her, and she wondered dimly whether it had once been transparent and was now stained pink with her blood. Somehow, through all the hours of terror, the mask had never been allowed to slip off her face.

She was almost used to the cold, now. Being cold felt like the least awful thing that had happened to her. In places it even numbed the pain.

"Had enough?" the ghost whispered.

Sarina realized she could speak, though her throat was more than sore. "Yes," she said hoarsely. "Yes, please, enough, please stop..."

"When Lil showed you the listing for this house," the ghost said, "do you remember reading all the stories about the different ghosts? The one that shuts the doors, the one that moves the silverware?"

Sarina nodded.

"Did you see anything about the woman who screams from inside the walls?"

Sarina tried to think. She didn't remember anything like that. She shook her head.

"You wouldn't have," the ghost whispered. "That one's new."

* * *

In the morning, Lil brought coffee to Sarina's room and knocked several times. Not hearing a response, she sighed and went in, preparing to face the wrath of her newly awakened boss. But there was no one there, only an unmade bed with an eye mask on the pillow.

They searched the house; no sign of her. The SUV was still in the garage. All of Sarina's clothes were hanging in the wardrobe. There were no footprints in the freshly fallen snow. But Sarina was gone.

Finally they came back to her room. It felt very empty. "We should report it," Virgil said, though it didn't sound like he meant it.

"Let's be real," Lil said. "Do you care if they find her?"

He looked away uncomfortably. "Not really." 

"Me either," Lil said. "Fuck that bitch."

The wind whistled past the window. It sounded almost like a woman screaming from inside the walls.

Virgil shuddered. "Let's pack up and get out of here," he said. "This place gives me the creeps."


End file.
